


Violet and Blonde

by Goodneighbor_Neighbor (Fan_by_Proxy)



Series: Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [27]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Aftercare, Arguing, BDSM Scene, Barebacking, Creampie, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Prostitution Roleplay, Rope Bondage, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor
Summary: After a slight snafu on date night, Sole and Hancock have it out and redraw a boundary
Relationships: Edward Deegan/Female Sole Survivor, John Hancock & Female Sole Survivor
Series: Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727050
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Violet and Blonde

Edward popped his thumb into the girl’s mouth, pressing down on her tongue to feel it flex under his touch. Her teeth came down lightly on his skin and he pulled his hand back, popping her lightly on the cheek. “Watch the teeth, that’s not what you’re being paid for.” he said with a soft-but-stern voice.

She glared up at him, blonde hair falling into her eyes; it spread out on the pillow in a tangled mass. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were puffy and wet, color smearing to her cheeks already. But as per the agreement, she stayed quiet.

“Good girl.” Edward murmured. He hooked a finger around the ropes that crisscrossed her torso, tugging to watch them bite a little more into her soft, smooth skin. Her arms were trapped at her sides, and for a few extra caps he’d even gotten to loop her ankles to the headboard so her legs were in the air in a V. He’d already trimmed back her hair to get a better view of the goods; he’d kill for the caps to be able to take a razor to her, but there were other things he wanted to do and only so many caps in his stash. “Five caps a pinch, right?”

The girl nodded.

Edward stretched to grab a handful of clothespins off the nightstand by the bed and set them on her stomach. He licked his lips and slotted against her, the bed creaking under his shifting weight. Edward palmed her breast, then squeezed it roughly. He toyed with her breast, squeezing and pulling at it, relishing the way it jiggled and warmed his palm. “Aught to be charging extra just for these tits.” he murmured, catching the plump nipple between his palm and forefinger to squeeze and twist it.

She squirmed, flush spreading and turning her head sharply to avoid his hungry eyes. When Edward set the first clothespin on the underside of her breast, she jumped and gave an indignant squawk. The punishment was fast and sharp.

Edward slapped her cheek hard enough to leave a handprint that stayed. Then he jammed his thumb in her mouth, between her cheek and teeth, to stifle her and mostly avoid being bitten. “Not paying for noise.” he growled, free hand setting a second clothespin on her nipple. The bud went dark red, and he flicked it strongly to make her jump. “We’re only just getting started.” Edward picked up another clothespin, shivering as the girl’s eyes went wide.

By the time he’d run out of clothespins, the girl was huffing raggedly and her eyes were bloodshot and teary. Each nipple was held firmly by a pin, the soft skin under her breasts mottled red and white by the pressure of more clothespins. She had outlines of his fingers on each cheek and her lip color was everywhere. He’d even pinched and pinned a little of the soft, sensitive skin low on her belly, doing his best to avoid the deepest of the old stretch marks--he wasn’t trying to draw blood tonight. Her thighs quivered, the rope loops biting into her ankles where she’d struggled against them and his attentions. As furious as her eyes were, glaring up at him even as tears trickled, there was no missing the heat and wetness that was gathering on the front of his pants. “You’re doing such a swell job, earning those caps.” he murmured. “Tough little thing that you are.” Edward cooed as he flicked one of her bruised nipples. “Just one more to go, sweetheart, then you earn the last caps.” He said as he picked up the last clothespin and licked his lips. Edward dragged his thumb roughly over the girl’s clit, to see how swollen it was. He gave the clothespin a squeeze.

The girl shook her head ‘no’ rapidly, squirming and trying to swing her legs to kick him. When the clothespin snapped down just behind the ruddy, puffy end, she cried out.

Edward moved to put his hand over her mouth to stifle the noise, but she opened her mouth wide and managed to set her teeth into what little webbing still stretched between his thumb and forefinger. He snatched his hand back, swearing, and slapped her twice in quick succession, forward and back. Her head lolled on the pillow. Heart racing, Edward opened his pants and pulled his cock free, forcing his way inside. She was hot and wet, bearing down hard on him. He reached for her waist, thrilled at how comfortably his hands could settle into the curve and how easy it was to hold her in place as he thrust.

It was an uncoordinated fuck; frantic and desperate. Every time he bottomed out, the girl gave a throaty grunt. For a moment, Edward thought about wrapping his hands around her elegant neck, stifling her noise with a light squeeze…but he liked it. He liked knowing that despite the pins and the slaps and the biting rope, it was the way he was fucking her that had her making noise when she shouldn’t. He was already _so close_!

Then the girl went limp, and Edward’s lap was hot and soaking wet. He shuddered, hands moving from her waist to her thighs; fingers digging into the muscle as he ground against her limp form. Edward came with a deep groan, calves cramping as he tensed for the release. He didn’t move away from her until he started going soft.

Edward reached for the girl and grabbed a handful shiny blond hair, pulling it firmly. It slid to the side and came off in his hand. He tossed the wig onto the nightstand and started easing the clothespins off her body, now on alert.

Yvette gave him a sleepy-eyed smile. “ _Bien?”_ she rasped.

Now, _now_ he was relieved to hear her voice. “Let me know what hurts, sweetheart.” Edward replied softly. He tried to find the mix between fast and gentle, shaking fingers making un-knotting all the ropes an exercise in patience. But he managed. “Can you move, sweetheart?”

She ached in a few different ways, some delicious and satisfied and some not so wonderful. Yvette touched the corners of her eyes to clear away the salt and the last few tears, finding the skin tender. The left one might’ve been bruised, but that would take a mirror to confirm. “Sleepy.” she murmured, which was the truth.

“Can you put your arms around me, sweetheart? I’ll pick you up.” Edward said before guiding her arms around his neck and his arms around her. She nuzzled into his neck, making him shiver. “One-two-three, sweetheart.” he said as he helped her up into a sit and got her turned on the bed to rest her back against the wall. “What do you need?”

“Want your shirt.” Yvette replied, lightly resting her hands on either side of his face to hold him in place for a gentle kiss on the span between his nose hole and upper lip.

He knew she meant the one off his back, in spite of its sweaty state…but instead Edward turned away to take the button up he’d worn when their date started from the chair and bring it to her, helping her ease into it. When she nestled into it, flipping the collar up and rubbing her cheek against it like a contented cat, he felt a happy little quiver in his chest.

Yvette sat quietly, letting Edward move about the room. His first step was to open a can of water and wrap her hands around it, guide it to her lips, and wait until she took two sips under mostly her own power before moving away. She wanted him beside her, his arm around her, all his gravelly praise raining down on her…but she knew that _first_ Edward needed to put it all away.

Edward wound the rope up neatly and put it in the trunk, then gathered up all the clothespins and laid them in the nightstand’s drawer. The wig he shook out and set back on the weird little stand Daisy had sold with it, setting the whole thing in the trunk. Once everything was put away, and the room was mostly back to normal, then and _only_ then did he easy onto the bed beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.

Yvette snuggled into him immediately. “ _Bien?_ ” she repeated the earlier question. “It was good?” she added, to try and draw him in.

He was going to have to remember what that word meant. “Fantastic; you were fantastic sweetheart. The real best.” Edward kissed her temple, then the top of her head. “Thank you.” he added with a growl--not a lusty growl, but the only one he could make for suddenly choking up.

“I am so glad.” Yvette sighed. “It was _very_ hard to make quiet.” she giggled.

Edward kissed the side of her head, listening to her rasp. “I’m sorry about that…I just…it helped.” he admitted, feeling heat crawl up his neck. It would’ve been harder to pretend she wasn’t her, even for a little while, if he heard that unmistakable voice. “Are you ok, sweetheart? I mean are you really ok?”

Yvette nodded. “Sore, and tired, and I need to have a bath…but I promise, I am ok.” she sighed; more aches were cropping up. “You were vicious, and deliberate. You owe me many caps.” she teased.

“Was I that bad?” he asked worriedly.

“No? Did I say bad? I did not.” Yvette said immediately. “These are games; we pretend. Sometimes you may pretend to be vicious, sometimes I may pretend to take money for fun. Then after, we are ourselves again.” she reminded him. Sometimes it seemed like two steps forward and four steps back with Edward; he would start to feel secure enough to express what he’d been suppressing, and then having done so he would make a hasty retreat. Yvette supposed she should feel insulted by that fact, but truthfully she wasn’t. He kept trying, and that was worth the back-and-forth.

“I know. Just…you’re right.” he said quietly, pulling her into him to cuddle a little more tightly.

“Just what? Tell to me.” she murmured.

“Nothing; just…in the moment, I love…giving in like that. Then after…” he sighed. “I still feel guilty.” Edward kissed the top of her head again. “Your hair’s tangled. Would you let me brush it, before you go?”

“We can always not play this way.” Yvette said as she eased away and scooted to the edge of the bed. There was a hairbrush in the bottom drawer of the nightstand; it had left its mark on her bottom on some nights, but the bristles were still good. She handed it to Edward. “We said we would never force it, if it did not work.”

He took the brush from her, setting it on the bed and putting his hands on her waist again. She giggled as he moved her to sit between his legs, and Edward couldn’t help but find a small smile. He took up the brush again. “I know I’ve asked before, but lemme ask again: you don’t mind taking it like that?”

“ _Non_.” She replied, too tired to be impatient with answering this question again. “I take much satisfaction in my lover’s pleasure. If I can see they are enjoying themselves, and I am part of that enjoyment, then I enjoy myself more, until we are all too exhausted.” Yvette said as she tried not to flinch. “Ah--the rat king is on my head?”

Edward chuckled, fingertips teasing tangles apart as gently as he could manage before trying to bring the brush through. It would be slow work; even winding and pinning her hair the way she had, the wig and the ‘play’ had made a mess of her hair. “We’ll get it, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

“I trust you.”

For a moment, Edward hesitated. His sweetheart was _smart_ \--the wicked kind of smart that used to intimidate the hell out of him, before Jack made him numb to it. Sure, she meant she trusted him not to rip her bald…but he was pretty sure she also meant she trusted him to keep the hurt within reason. “I know you do.” he said quietly.

“ _Bien_.” Yvette sighed. “We should have had snacks before you began on my hair.” she said as her stomach rumbled.

He put the brush down immediately and gripped her around the waist again, moving her out of the way to slide off the bed. “Just a second, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

Yvette smiled, watching him go to the kitchenette and start pulling supplies. Before long, she had a little bowl of dried meat and fresh melon, half a box of Fancy Lads, and more water to drink; a kiss on the forehead, and then Edward’s busy fingers back in her hair. She wished, for a moment, that they were closer to the house--getting up after such a date was always a pain. But it was the way things were going to be, at least for a little while longer. So she sat and let Edward carefully free her hair from tangles, and nibbled, and savored how much care he freely gave.

Hancock was waiting up for her, as was often the case. He wrapped her in a hug, burying his face in her neck and nibbling lightly at her weak spot. Yvette had to grab onto him hard to keep from dropping to the floor. He chuckled.

“Ed didn’t finish the job?” Hancock teased, making sure she was steady before pulling back. His grin disappeared as the light landed on her face just right. “Black eye.” he said tersely.

Yvette made a non-committal noise. “Be kind to me; we used ropes and clothespins, I am very bruised in places.” She explained, patting his hip before sliding sideways to go to the bathroom. The light within didn’t do many favors at the best of times, and when Yvette caught a good glimpse in the mirror, she understood Hancock’s defensiveness.

“Doesn’t sound like something that blacks your eye, beautiful.” Hancock replied, doing his best to keep his face neutral.

“Would you like the play-for-play?” Yvette demanded. “You make bruises on me regularly,” she pointed out, “and _Édouard*_ does the same; you are both very strongly passionate men.” She started to unbutton her blouse. Normally Hancock would slide in, push her hands away, take over--but it seemed in this instance, he wasn’t in the mood.

“A hickey’s one thing--even a handprint on that great ass of yours. But my wife comes home with a black eye…I wanna know what’s up.” Hancock replied. She was _technically_ right--he and Ed both had left love bites and fingerprints galore; he himself had even left a bite mark or two a couple of times, and getting a handful of her hair to yank was pretty common. But there was something about the soft, swollen, violet ring around one of his wife’s beautiful Atomic Blue™ eyes hit him in the wrong place.

Yvette counted to three in her head before answering, focusing on getting ready for a bath and for bed. “We have learned that if _Édouard_ can pretend for a little bit that I am not me, he can relax and play with me very well. Tonight, I wore yellow hair and pretended to take caps for sex; he used rope to tie me in a very embarrassing position, he used clothespins on soft places to make me jump, he slapped me with his strong hands, and we had sex.” She recounted, moving away from Hancock to turn the tub on.

Normally that was his job; he _should_ be helping, this _should_ be just another date night. But Hancock’s temper was creeping up, fueled by black eyes and rope burns. “I don’t like it.” he said flatly. “You told me to tell you when we hit a point I didn’t like, and this is it.”

Yvette stepped into the tub and sat down. She picked up the bar soap and a cloth, and forced her hands to move slow and deliberate. “Will you explain for me then, why this is your point, _Jean_? Please?”

Hancock leaned back against the sink, watching her bathe, trying to find the words. “Your face is off-limits.” he finally managed. “Do whatever the hell you want, I know that’s not my business. But your face? Off-limits.” he repeated.

“And if my eye was bruised because I had fallen off the bed, would you say this to me?” Yvette demanded.

“No? That’d be an accident; but sluggin’ a gal in the face _ain’t an accident_! …usually.” Hancock argued.

“He did not _slog_ me, _Jean._ ” Yvette snapped. “It was slaps, _et c'était un accident!_ ” she didn’t mean to raise her voice at the end. But she was tired, and sore, and something about the way Hancock said ‘your face is off-limits’ hit her _wrong_.

“Why are you yelling at me, _I_ didn’t hit you!” Hancock yelled back. Things were going wrong, and he couldn’t see how to immediately pull it back. “Goddammit, Yvette, you’re my wife and I’m looking out for you!”

“Do you think I am a stupid, _Jean_? If I was upset for myself, I would be upset for myself; I am not upset, so why is there a problem?” Yvette demanded, throwing the soapy rag down, flinching back from the sudden splash of water.

“For somebody who’s not upset, you’re yelling pretty loud, _beautiful_.” Hancock sniped.

“I am _yelling_ , because it sounds to me like you are saying my face belongs to you, and that you decide what is done with it, when it is my face and _my_ decisions!” Even to her own tired ears, she sounded garbled. Yvette made a frustrated growl and splashed water up to her face to try and cool her temper.

“I said your face was off-limits, because a guy shouldn’t slug a gal!” Hancock yelled back. “And dammit, you’re my wife, and somebody slugs you, I gotta stick’em for it!”

“Absolutely you do not!” Yvette grabbed the edges of the tub and got her feet in place to hoist herself out of the water so she could get out and face Hancock. Unfortunately, the move wasn’t as coordinated as usual, and her foot rolled as she turned. Her ankle popped, and she pitched forward with a surprised yelp.

Hancock darted forward, arms out, faster than he could think. Yvette’s chin dug into his shoulder as they collided, and he was pretty sure the lump in his throat was his actual heart. “I gotcha, I gotcha--”

Yvette nodded a little, gripping the back of his pajama top for dear life. “I think my ankle has dislocated.” she huffed; her ankle certainly burned and zinged like it had! “Moved wrongly.”

“Can you put any weight on it at all?” Hancock asked. He stretched, fumbling, to snag her towel with fingertips to at least wrap it around her. The argument wasn’t over, he knew, but it could wait.

She tried, yelping as the abused joint protested with a sharp sting. “No--no, it is no good.”

Hancock nodded. “Ok, it’s ok--I’m gonna pick you up and take you to the bed; just trust me.”

“I will--I do.” Yvette relaxed her grip. She would let Hancock move her where he needed, carry her, and hopefully once settled, they could try to have a calm conversation, without their tempers warring.

The couch was closer than the bed, and in truth better for the situation. Hancock settled her on the couch, pulling cushions to prop up her swollen, injured ankle; he helped her into her night dress, and gave her the slightest hint of Med-X. Then he sat on the coffee table, and took a deep breath. “We uh…we still fighting?”

“I do not want to.” Yvette said tiredly. “I want to understand; this is the first time we have had such a moment, and now we must navigate it.”

“Look, I don’t got a good reason, ok? You just…you just don’t hit a gal in the face.” he said. “Not without a good reason!”

“During lovemaking, sometimes you have slapped me.” Yvette pointed out.

Hancock rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Yeah...in the heat of the moment, sometimes my hands are outta control. When I think back on it, I feel like shit about it.” he hunched, trying to avoid eye-contact. “Cuz…you know…I love you. Foolin’ around is great, being with you _is great_ and…you just shouldn’t hit a gal in the face.”

“Suppose she is a raider, and trying to kill you.” Yvette observed drily.

Hancock couldn’t help but give her a nasty look. “Yeah, you know, for a second I feel like an asshole even then.” he snapped.

“Ok,” Yvette began, “ok. May I explain for me?”

He didn’t quite get what she meant by that; maybe the Med-X was kicking in. “I promise, I’m listening, beautiful.”

She nodded. “For me, it matters _how_ I am struck. If we are making love, and your palm is open to me, I am not offended.” Yvette explained, gesturing with her hand. “If it is the back of your hand, I am more insulted.”

Hancock raised an eyebrow.

“It is ruder that way.” Yvette said with a shrug. “Here, I am touching you; in anger, or in lust, I am touching you this way.” she held her hand out to Hancock, and was relieved when he took it almost immediately. “See? We touch.” she smiled.

Hancock squeezed her hand, leaning on his knees to be closer. He didn’t want to move the coffee table and disrupt the chessboard on it.

“But we do not touch,” she worked her hand free and tapped his palm with the back of her hand, “this way.” she finished before gripping his hand properly again and giving it a tug.

Hancock took the sign immediately, moving it perch on the edge of the couch beside her. “So if you backhand me, I should probably be worried?” he teased.

Yvette snorted. “If we are not playing and making love, and I am hitting you, you should be worried in general.” she pointed out.

“Alright, alright, fair point.” Hancock chuckled. He shifted his grip to hold her hand in both of his, drawing his thumb along her knuckles. “So…Ed backhand you?”

“Once, during. If it had been more, then I would have had us stop the things.” Yvette squeezed his hand. “Perhaps my eye is bruised, because mostly he focused on this cheek,” she ran a finger lightly over the skin under her bruised eye, “or perhaps it is simply one of those silly things that happens when you are playing and making love.” she shrugged. “I am, for right now, not bothered. It is not my favorite touch, but I am not against it…I understand now, though, that the idea of it makes you very uncomfortable.”

Hancock nodded. “Maybe…maybe it was dumb of me to say what I said the way I said it.” he admitted. “I just…I got strong feelings, ya know? And…if I thought he was hurting you--for real--I would stick him, beautiful. And I’d enjoy it. Because I love you, and…and I gotta look after you.” Hancock said plaintively. He didn’t mean to say it that way, but that was the truth and he was desperate to get that across to her _without_ a fight.

“And I look for you.” Yvette brought his hands to her lips and kissed them. “I will talk to _Édouard_ , and between us we will talk about less face slaps during sexy games. Can this make us compromise happy?”

“I guess.” Hancock relented. “I’m not--look I know I don’t _own_ you, ok? I’m just…trying to look after you.” he repeated.

She nodded. “I love you. I worry for you too, and I can understand better now why you were upset.”

Hancock leaned forward and kissed her gently. “Alright beautiful. I’m good if you’re good--besides the ankle.”

Yvette smiled. “Besides the ankle, yes, _nous sommes tout bon_.”

He reached up and brushed hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear gently. “Well then, how about we go to bed? You take the rest of the Med-X and get some sleep, see if that thing’s not back to normal in the morning, huh?” Hancock grinned.

“If you do not pull your back to help me.” she cautioned.

“Eh, you’re not that heavy.” Hancock replied, getting up. “Besides, spry guy like me has no worries. You’re the one who twisted her ankle in the bathtub.” he teased.

“I am going to smack you!” Yvette exclaimed, even as she smiled.

“As long as it’s with an open palm.” he said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes, but kissed his cheek once Hancock had gathered her neatly into his arms. Yvette didn’t look forward to a drugged sleep when things were, for the most part, calmed down…but she didn’t relish trying to hop around Goodneighbor for next couple of weeks. And as he promised, Hancock would look after her.

**Author's Note:**

> *I thought I'd try using the French spelling of Edward to imply Yvette's accent when she says his name...but truth be told, I don't like how it looks. Cue me going back to just italicizing it from here on out - -"  
> **I don't have any traumatic reason for Hancock being like "you just don't hit a girl in the face", it just seemed fitting and I'm not one for getting smacked in the face for fun or profit (the backhand v. open-hand is a legit cultural exchange conversation I've been part of; it's really interesting how things weigh out depending on where you're from!)


End file.
